Rock your world
by so-damn-mishalicious
Summary: Working at S.H.I.E.L.D. Entertainment - one of the biggest music labels in New York - is a pretty nice job. That's what Clint thinks until he gets assigned to take care of Pietro Maximoff an uprising artist from Sokovia and the most arrogant fuck he has ever met. SilverHawk Musician AU: Manager!Clint and Rockstar!Pietro


_Another SilverHawk Oneshot for Damien who supports me in all those crazy AU ideas I have... thx girl this is to you!_

His eyes graced the papers in front of him, all neat writing, pictures, reports. Clint frowned, taking in the whole thing before throwing them back to the desk. "You have to be shitting me Phil! What am I supposed to do with this guy? I'm managing musicians not a damn kindergardener!"

Phil Coulson leaned back into his comfy black leather chair and rested his hands in a relaxed pose in front of his body.

"No need to be overly dramatic here. The kids new to the label and he needs a manager, an experienced one as well. Did you listen to his mix tapes?".

Of course he had listened to the damned mix tapes - and there was no denying he had potential, could be one of the greatest one day. But his allures kept running ahead of his name and there was no way he'd ruin his nerves for a rowdy rough kid like Pietro "I'm not listening to anyone" Maximoff. He tried it once - with that bloody twat of Thors' younger brother - and they nearly strangled each other before he was taken in by someone else. Nope never again.

"So why not give him to Tasha? Considering the whole Russian thing they should get along pretty well!"

His boss threw him an unamused glance that made him shut up pretty quickly. "As you might know Natasha has more than enough work dealing with Steven and Sam, as well as that Barnes guy that recently joined as well. The only protégé you're keeping an eye on is Ms. Bishop and she's on vacation anyway. So..." the files were pushed into his direction again. Clint was about to decline again as Phil interrupted him with a small smile, "Some years ago I knew a guy who had talent as well. He was determined, maybe a little sloppy but willing to work on himself - all that he needed was a chance and a push into the right direction."

A deep growl left the brunettes throat as he stood up and gripped the file case, glaring daggers at his boss. "Damn you Phil I promise - if he's the little shit he will be you'll never hear the end of this!". Then he was out the door, slamming it loudly like a petulant child and Coulson chuckled to himself. Those two knuckle heads were either going to be a good team or trying to smash their skulls in pretty quickly. He was curios what it would be...

If Clint Barton had thought by any small chance - like miracles might happen once in a millenium - that he might be able to like Pietro Maximoff or could tolerate him at least he found himself to be horribly incorrect. He hated the brat the second he stepped through the door to his over an hour late for their meeting he came into the room, a bored look on his face like he owned the place, obnoxiously loud chewing on bubblegum. The kids hair was dyed some strange mix of white with darker tones and could only be described as a fucking mess. Wearing a ripped band shirt with (russian?) letters all over it and black jeans that hugged his long legs like a second skin he practically screamed trouble. What a day to be alive...

"Old man go get that manager guy or somethin', will ya? Ain't got the whole day..." Maximoff's voice was darker than he expected, so the chance was pretty high he was older than he looked. His words were laced thickly with foreign accent - not the neat one he knew from Natasha but something similiar so the kid was probably coming from one of the neighbouring countries. The gaze of cristalline blue eyes lay on him with a mix of boredom and annoyance since the punk really believed he was some lackey not following his orders. Clint took a last calming breath before rising from his seat, carelessly brushing over the jacket he wore over his favourite jeans and a simple shirt (and he didn't look like a lackey damnit!). "The old man is going to kick that ass of yours if you call him that again - I'm Clinton Barton, your manager in charge. I would say I'm glad to meet you or something but we don't want to start this relationship on lies, do we?".

If the platinum blonde was suprised he hid it pretty well and looked at the extended hand that the other raised as a greeting with a measuring gaze before giving it a simple slap. "Whatever's your call old man - can we get to the point? Like I said I know some ways to spend my time in a more fun way than to sit in some big glass cage."

Oh Tony would love and hate that arrogant bastard, having designed a big part of the building of S.H.I.E.L.D. Entertainment himself. But arguing would only waste time so Clint signed the younger one to take a seat and fell back into his chair as well.

Opening the file case concerning "Pietro Maximoff" he flipped through the papers in there. "This is the contract binding you to this label. As long as you're working for us you aren't to work for any other company with your music". That earned him a snort he continued to go through the details. The brunette knew from his own experience this wasn't the most exciting part so he trief to get it over fast - hid protégé wasn't listening in the least he could tell, looking through his bureau in the vain hope to find something to entertain himself. Finding none Pietro sighed and rummaged through his pants pockets, fishing out a rumpled pack of cigarettes that had seen better days. Taking one out, he put it between his lips and went on searching for the lighter but a short movement gracing on his mouth, a minimal pain, made him gasp and he flinched back.

"If you try to smoke in my office ever again kid, I promise this will hit something else - like your eyeball for example. So better not push me!" a smug smile found its way to the managers face as the musician stared incredulous at the cigarette impaled on the pen he had twirled just seconds ago and was now sticking out from the carpet. Recovering quickly from his schock the Sokovian (never heard of this country but he found it in his files) turned to him, a cocky grin in place, "that's sick man! U a sharpshooter or something?"

Based on the exclamation he deduced the kid being a sucker for excitement as he still sat slouched but more upright in his chair, actually listening. The thought also made him smirk and he casually shrugged his his shoulders, "that's a story for another time. Here is your contract - ready to sign if you are.".

Pietro leaned forward and reached for the pile of papers, weighing it in his hand before going through the first pages.

"So that's what sells my soul to the devil huh? And my ass to you." the mischievous glint in the blue eyes made him roll his eyes. "If you want to call it that, go on - whatever rocks your boat. But to say it in your words - yep your ass is mine then and that means at all times." Clint stated and their eyes directly met for the first time, a strange energy between them that seemed to slow time down just a notch. In the end it was Pietro who broke the contact and reached for one of the pens still lying on his desk, "If I wouldn't know better I'd say you just flirted with me grandpa..."

He scrawled his signature over the line on the first page and shoved the stack back towards the older one, smiling like a cat that got the cream. The older man put down his signature as well while murmuring "In your dreams punk!" before carefully putting the documents into his desk. He cleared his throat out of habit before continuing and the attention still was on him, "well let's call it a day. We meet tomorrow afternoon 2 p.m. at the studio to show you around, I'll text you the adress later. Any questions?".

The blonde shook his head and they stood, ready to finish this meeting. He was indeed a goodlooking guy, Barton noticed (more like accepted) for the first time, standing on the opposite side and he also realized with a grumble the kid had a few centimeters over him. Fuck those long legs... ok that sounded wrong even in his mind.

He accompanied his freshly assigned client to the door who turned around for a last time, giving him a quick once over before smiling devilishly, "well can't wait for your sexting, boss... texting I meant, silly me. Looks like my englisch's still a bit messed up huh?", winking at him and disappearing out of sight without another word.

Clint caught himself starring dumbly at the closed door even minutes after the other one had left. He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face, trying to get over the fact that little devil had winked, maybe even flirted with him, and he couldn't deny that he wasn't totally opposed to the idea of...

"Fuck!"

He hid his face in his hands with a groan. This was so going to be a pain in his ass...

\- the End -

 _This is labled a OS since I work an 2 other stories right now. Taking in account my time and motivation I might continue this later!_


End file.
